WEEKS 1-4
Bloody nose.
Horrible.
Exams.
Qualifiers.
Depression.
Winter.
Discontent.
Alien dreams of electric sheep and machine screams.
Tears.
Rain, not rain.
Shut out.
Sickness.
Viscous emotions.
Tap tap.
Scratch.
Scribble.
Red ink.
Sweet hunger.
Wrecked.
Waxed.
Hail scarred.
Broken shoes.
Swallowed smiles.
Hidden fears.
WEEK 5
Monday:
I had the pleasure of sitting behind an elderly couple on the bus headed downtown (city centre). We were on the second level (double-decker bus). They were occupying my favourite seat, front row, left. A young woman occupied my second favourite seat, front row, right. So I sat second row left, just behind the old man, the old woman was all the way to the left, in the corner seat. At first I mistook the old woman’s mumbles for the general bus-indigestion. Her persistence, however, quickly clarified any ambiguity in background noise.
I didn’t mean to stare. But her soft, protruding cheeks – cheeks only possible when teeth are nothing, but a memory – reflected the late morning sun so perfectly. I couldn’t help myself. The warm, slanting sun illuminated each strand of peach fuzz on her round, jiggly cheeks so completely. Her incoherent mumblings continued, but not in vain. The old man answered with a request for her to spy something of interest out the window – pointing in one direction or another – or a question about her state. This seemed to satisfy the old woman for a bit each time.
The old man giggled and shared jokes. He kissed the old woman on her soft cheek, with a sweet, delicate *peck* each time. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a kiss delivered with such unquestionable, true love. When we think of a lover’s kiss delivered with unfettered honesty predicated on true love, our thoughts often (if not exclusively) turn to such kisses seen in movies; when the music swells, and hearts are jumping; when she’s forcefully pulled toward her lover; then locked in some form of face-smashing excitement. However, the old man’s gentle peck on the old woman’s cheek far surpassed Hollywood’s tired attempts.
For everything the old woman lost in communication, the old man seemed to gain. Each time he shot his arm up to point out another person, bird, or tree out the windows, I realised, not only was the old woman following, but I and the other passengers followed as well. The old man had fully engaged our collective attentions. What power he may never know he had.
Tuesday:
I bought a bottle of red wine today. It was cheap and delicious. Not often are we satisfied with sub-par goods, but this was a good bottle, all the same.
I want to say I spent the entire day alone, but that may be misleading. I spent the day, as a matter of fact, surrounded by people. They made wide births for me when I entered the boutique drenched from rain. They ritualistically bumped my shoulders in passing like a strange form of English greeting for the alien in the hallway. They wished me a “cheers” with each receipt. What they don’t know, though, is that they are the aliens, not I. They move across the stores with strange gates, speak in strange tongues “yeah but, no but, yeah but, no but….,” and smell of exotic fragrances, reminiscent of sausages and curry.
Wednesday:
People are still talking today about the sun they saw on Sunday. I can’t say I thought Sunday’s sun was anymore note-worthy than every other day’s sun this month. However, the locals seemed to enjoy it immensely.
I, however, have no time for sun revelry. I was just enlightened on the extent to just how far behind I am in both my course work, as well as my PhD work. Unfortunately, the (very truthful) excuse that I can’t get my work done because I’m too busy getting my work done, won’t fly.
Upside of the day. I sought late afternoon refuge in the Postgraduate Hub to knock out a few hours of reading/writing for a lecture I’ve convinced myself I enjoy. While tap-tapping away, my back reminded me that I hadn’t moved in a while and was in serious threat of forming an impressive hunch. So I sat up straight, raised my arms over my head, then arched over the back of my chair in the hopes of achieving some satisfying snap, crackle, and pops. While stretching backwards into a human pretzel, I spied a series of large sky-lights directly above head. Then I realised that in 5 months of working in the same place, nearly everyday, I just now noticed the luscious amount of natural light feeding into our work space. A lovely surprise, indeed. As well as a wake-up call to my attentional abilities.
Thursday:
Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps I should have eaten before attending morning lecture. Or, perhaps I should never have attended a morning lecture today at all. I could “perhaps” myself until the sweet relief of death, but that won’t change what happened this morning. Strangely enough, a part of me hopes I never live it down, too.
Our new lecturer for Experimental Economics introduced research that assumes there is a difference between men and women with respects to risky behaviour. I sat quietly and listened to the presentation of the work, methodology, and concluding remarks. One great, but dangerous aspect of our field of ‘science’ is that no matter how much we researchers try to control the variables, the results are still open to interpretation. We like to think we have successful control over the research, therefore justifying the strength and validity of interpreted results. HOWEVER, results still require deductive reasoning and guess work. After experiencing a complete absence of questioning from the other students, I spoke up. I questioned the extent to which such research and ‘results’ could be disseminated. I asked if there was a possibility that this research (and its like) were measuring a 3rd variable, or variables, not originally acknowledged in the design and hypotheses. I asked how clear it was that this research was measuring innate, biological underpinnings, as opposed to social constructs or compliance to fabricated sexist roles.
To his credit, the professor seemed extremely uncomfortable, but attempted to answer as ambiguously as possible. To my credit, I managed to blanket the entire room in a gossamer film of disquietude they won’t soon forget.
In the evening I joined the Warwick Atheist, Secular, Humanist Society and Christian FOCUS Society on campus for a lovely discussion-in-the-round. Similar to speed dating, we sat in little groups and discussed whatever topic was shouted out to us by one of the students leading the event. Each new topic brought the potential for whole new group of people. It was quite enjoyable.
Friday:
More than once, I have found myself in a precarious position, in a strange place, uttering to myself, “I have no idea where I am,” only to quickly follow it with, “…and I’m OK with that.”
Meet a new group: Seabear - Seashell
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